O'Malley's on 12th
by stress
Summary: The shop, with its hand-carved sign and hand-painted letters, was known simply as O’Malley’s. Written for Dewey's Holidays with the Newsies contest.
1. Gift

Disclaimer: _The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purpose. Stress is the property of this author and any other original character has been shamelessly borrowed ;) _

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_**O'Malley's on 12**__**th**_

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It was a little shop, nestled between some big and busy well-known department store and a quaint little bakery full of sweet chocolate scents and the warm cinnamon-y goodness of the season. It stood there year round but was only open during the holidays and, unless you knew it was there, you never saw it—it was that sort of shop. Easily forgotten and barely noticed, the storefront was indistinguishable from the brick walls and the bright displays of its neighboring brethren.

The windows were small, dusty and streaky. The door had neither a lock nor a chime, and the handle was fashioned out of a pale wood so fair and smooth that it was hard to think of it as being the entryway to this dark little shop. There was nothing at all about it to tell what type of wares the shop offered or what kind of patrons it hoped to attract save for a small mat at the foot of the door that, in an ornate script, read: _Something for Everyone_.

This shop, with its hand-carved sign and hand-painted letters, was known simply as O'Malley's.

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December 1898 descended upon Manhattan with a flurry of activity. By the time another Thanksgiving was nothing but a memory the city had been blanketed entirely with a thick sheet of snow more than three times already; as the year slowly drew to a close, winter was only all too prepared to hang on for those last few days before 1899 received it.

It was a chilly winter, all dry air and fierce winds whipping a welcome against the raw cheeks of those on the less than busy streets. Too cold for a wet, heavy snow, the light powder that fell instead fell often and fell fast. It had barely enough of a chance to mingle with the dirt and the debris on the ground before the muddy slush was covered with ice and slick and a freshly fallen coat of virgin white.

Children frolicked in the snow until their hands and their toes and the tips of their noses burned bright red from winter's bite. Mothers, when they could afford, kept pots of hot soup boiling in the tureen; fathers, when they could not afford, trudged off to work, braving the cold and the harshness of another December.

And if mere survival wasn't enough, with December came Christmas and the desire to show affection for loved ones with a present—whether _that_ could be afforded or not…

The less fortunate, those who lived on godforsaken corners and in the worst of the City's slums, they were no exception. Ribbons on the gas lamps, the scent of peppermint in the air and a nice Christmas goose hanging temptingly in the nearby shop window… it was futile to try and resist the lure of the holiday.

Christmas spirit was all around, permeating every nook and cranny of Manhattan even more effectively than the ever present cold. For the ever-toiling factory workers, the foreman was a tad bit kinder. For the young seamstresses, their masters were a might less demanding. And for the newsboys who stood in the chill and the snow, hawking the headlines no matter the weather, the patrons were a touch more forthcoming with their purses.

It was as if, despite the snow and despite the constant strain of New York City life, the snow had brought something else to its inhabitants besides inconvenience. Like the icing on a yuletide cake, the December blizzards had welcomed in the Christmas magic—

—but not for everyone.

_

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Author's Note: _This is going to be my entry for Dewey's Holidays with the Newsies contest on the NML. I've been meaning to write a Christmas-centric short story for a few years now and, well, I love a good challenge! This story will have four parts and, since the deadline is Friday at midnight, updates will be fairly quickly :) I hope you enjoy and, as always, I'd love to hear what you'd have to say._

_-- stress, 12.10.08_


	2. of

Disclaimer: _The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. _

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_**O'Malley's on 12**__**th**_

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Jack Kelly was not what you would call a religious boy. His mother, rest her soul, had done her best to read him the scriptures and instill in him the good and honest fear of the Lord. An Irish woman born and bred, Maggie Sullivan was a god-fearing Catholic but she left this world before her only son had understood the depths of her devotion. Now, at near seventeen, Jack thought nothing of belief or hope; for the street boy, it was just enough to rely on a charming smile, a loud mouth and a quick set of fingers.

Not to mention, of course, a good friend or two…

It was on this day, the 23rd of December, that he was standing out in the cold, waiting for one particular friend of his. He had no pocket watch but he did not need one to figure how late it had gotten. Living on the street had given him the innate sense of being able to tell time just by the actions of the hectic world around him. Though the streets were emptier than he'd thought they'd be, he could tell that afternoon was slowly waning away into another long evening.

That, and that she was late. Again.

For the first time in days the snow had granted a brief reprieve for the beleaguered New Yorkers—but the wind and the cold remained. Jack felt the chill deep in his bones and he huffed impatiently, wondering where in the world Stress could be.

Stamping his feet against the frozen dirt ground and blowing on his hands in a bid to warm them up, he stood fidgeting across from the Bottle Alley Home for Girls. Her shift at Ol' Man Williams' textile factory started even earlier than the release of the morning edition of the _New York World_ and ended after most of the newsies had done their best to sell through the afternoon press. He'd already finished his works for the day; by now, so should she have.

On days when they could manage, Jack met her just outside the entrance to Bottle Alley—boys were expressly forbidden from entering and if Mrs. Cook wasn't up to enforcing the rule, then Rae Kelly certainly was—and waited for her to arrive. If the headlines had been good, or good enough to stand a little improvement, then a bowl of piping hot soup and some bread at Tibby's was in order. If not… well, there was always Medda's.

It was bound to be Medda's again that night. With a grimace that had more to do with a light pocket than the wind in his face, Jack lowered his head and looked back on that day's selling. He found it best to sell alone—a partner would mean some sort of split of the profits and he couldn't have that—and even his God-given talent was unable to bring in the customers.

Probably too busy with the Christmas hooey, he thought ruefully to himself, absently running an ink-stained hand through the lengths of his greasy brown hair. Jack patted his head once before letting his hands fall to his side, hugging his torso for warmth and wishing that he'd had a hat to wear to keep the heat from escaping.

He'd had a hat, too, but it wasn't doing him any good now. Nicknamed "Cowboy" by his fellow newsies for his desire to head out West, the old, crushed cowboy hat he normally wore was all part of the act. He'd had it so long—ever since his father got tossed into Sing Sing and his dreams of Santa Fe were born—that it didn't seem right, not having the hat perched smartly on his head or hanging down his back. But one practical joke courtesy of Racetrack Higgins and years of wear had meant that the cord that kept the hat in place had finally snapped. And, without the cord, it was useless to try to wear the cowboy hat.

Jack refused to part with it; one day he hoped to earn enough to get it repaired. Until that day, though, he stubbornly went out without any sort of hat—not even the cap a guilty Race had offered in return for a few cheap laughs.

The memory of his broken hat, kept safely at the foot of his bunk at the Newsboys' Lodging House on Duane Street, coupled with the impatience he felt at still standing outside in the cold waiting, caused a sneer to cross his handsome face. Spitting on the dirty, crunchy snow once and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jack braved the wind and lifted his head in order to eye the foreboding Girls' Home before him.

"Jack! Hey, Cowboy!"

There was someone crossing the street, waving his hand frantically as he called out to Jack. It wasn't Stress, of course—the voice was far too deep, all too happy… and, of course, he was a _he_—and, if it wasn't for the nickname, he would have known that he was meeting another newsie by the stack of newspapers the other boys had tucked under his arm.

He was fast in pace and, as he grew closer, Jack recognized the smiling olive-skinned boy immediately. He nodded his head in greeting, a small crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was almost impossible to remain in a gloomy mood when Mush was around. Ever since Mush Meyers had found his way to the Lodging House at the end of last year Jack had really appreciated the younger boy's happy and sweet—if not hardened by the street, just yet—outlook on life.

"Hey, Mush. Whatcha up to?" He got another look at the ten or so newspapers his new friend was holding onto. "Ya ain't still sellin', are ya? It's gettin' dark out, ya know."

There was a red tint to Mush's cheeks that made Jack curious. It was hard to tell if that was just a reaction from the cold or if he was excited about something. Knowing Mush, it was probably the latter.

When he spoke, his voice was quick and held a touch of disappointment—but also hope. There was no denying the hope. "Yeah, Jack, but I still don't got enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Blink's present. He's been real good to me, ya see. Showin' me around, teachin' me how to be a newsie… I just wanna get him something to show him that I 'ppreciate it, but I haven't made enough yet."

Jack's brow furrowed in ill-disguised confusion. He was beginning to think that the cold was beginning to affect whatever sense he had left. "Why get him a present? It ain't his birthday, is it?"

"For Christmas, of course," Mush answered matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

The snort was out before he could swallow it back. "People still do that?" Jack asked disbelievingly. "I thought Christmas was just an excuse to have another feast down at the Lodging House."

Mush's smile flickered only for a moment. His dark eyes went wide but there, hidden away in the depths, was a knowing expression. "Are ya tellin' me that there ain't no one special that ya want to give a present to, Jack?"

Though he would never admit it, Mush's simple question made Jack's breath hitch for just a second. He recovered nicely, though, before muttering, "Maybe. I… I don't know."

He was lying and they both knew it. Jack Kelly, where he wasn't religious, could be very selfish. If there was one person, however, that could sway his attention away from himself, it was his old friend, Stress. Even now, late as she was, he found himself unable to escape from the cold. Just yet, anyway…

Mush waited a moment to see if there was anything more that his friend had to say but Jack's mouth was clamped shut and his eyes were trained unblinkingly on the large Home across the street.

Smiling to himself, Mush broke the quiet, "Anyway, I still gotta push a coupla more of these papes. I saw this great cap over at O'Malley's the other day. It's real cheap and I just might have enough to buy it tomorrow."

The mention of the shop's name broke the sudden trance that had fallen over Jack. He gave his head a small shake, narrowing his dark eyes on Mush's face. _O'Malley's_… the name didn't sound familiar at all. After countless years on the street, Jack prided himself that he knew almost every inch of Manhattan—but he'd never heard of a shop with that name before.

Raising one of his eyebrows, he asked, "O'Malley's?"

"Yup. O'Malley's on 12th. It's a great place, Jack, especially at Christmas."

Maybe it was the way Mush was beaming at him—or perhaps it was because it irked him more then he could say that _Mush _knew all about a place that he didn't know of—but Jack couldn't help himself. "Christmas? Humbug!"

It was only too late that Jack remembered that Mush had spent his first Christmas at the Lodging House last year—and, as such, had sat with some of the other boys as Kloppman told the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and the three ghosts of Christmastime. The reference was not lost on the other boy who smiled impishly and said, "Aw, c'mon now, Jack. Ya ain't gonna be a Scrooge, are ya?"

Jack just rolled his eyes and changed the subject back. Something was nagging at him. "What was you sayin' about this O'Malley's joint?"

"Ya never been?" Without even waiting for Jack to answer, Mush continued, "It's this great little shop, over on 12th, right? They got something for everybody and they don't cost all that much. I'm definitely gonna head on over there to see about gettin' Blink's cap tomorrow. The man who runs the place is a real good guy. Always willin' to help a fella out, I think."

"Really," Jack said, clamping his teeth shut again once they started chatter. In the few moments where he let his attention wander he'd forgotten to pretend he wasn't as cold as he was. He nodded to himself, a plan forming. "On 12th, huh?"

"Yup," Mush said happily.

Before either could say anything else, another person came running out towards them. Wild curls escaping out from under the kerchief she had tied haphazardly around her head and her skirt billowing out in the wind, Stress Rhian rushed out through the front doors of the Bottle Alley Home and hurried right over to where Jack and Mush were still standing.

Though she'd only just emerged out into the cold air, she pulled her loose blouse close to her as she shook her head apologetically. Her words came out in a tumbled rush. "Oh, Jack, I didn't know if you'd still be here! It's my necklace, ya know, it just… I don't know, it just _broke_! Right in my hand, ya wouldn't believe it. And—"

There she paused, catching her spent breath as she ran her eyes across Mush's friendly face. She hadn't noticed the second boy at first and, when she did, she waved one of her hands at him. "It's you, Mush. Hey, whatcha doin'?"

Mush's smile was pleasant and friendly. "Just talkin' to Jack. 'Bout Chris—"

"Stress," Jack said suddenly, speaking much louder than he had been before, "I gotta tell ya that I—I got something to do tonight. I ain't gonna be able to do anything else. You… you understand, don't ya?"

Her golden eyes dimmed and inwardly she cursed her foolish fingers for breaking her old tarnished chain in half. Not only did she lose something that was very near and dear to her but, for some reason or another, the action of her being so late had upset Jack in a way that she couldn't understand.

But she lied anyway. "Oh… of—of course, Jack. It's kinda too chilly to go down to Tibby's besides."

"I thought so, too," he said firmly but his agitated actions—long, thin fingers were absently pulling at the ends of his shaggy, sandy-colored hair—gave away his true mind. "I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever ya say, Jack."

Jamming his hands in his front pockets and turning his head away before either Stress or Mush could read his sudden indecision, Jack walked straight into the wind. It was still not so dark that the night swallowed his retreating back up in the oncoming blackness; shivering slightly in the force of that wind, Stress watched him go.

It was only when he'd turned the corner and disappeared out of her sight that she turned to look at Mush. The younger newsie still hadn't moved from his place.

"What was that all about?"

Mush shrugged his shoulders. "Can't really say, Stress. I just told him 'bout me gettin' Blink a present."

"You were talkin' to him 'bout Christmas gifts?" she asked, clarifying his words. When he nodded, her heart sank. She'd been kind of hoping that Jack, as he was every year, was still oblivious to the tradition of exchanging gifts during the holiday season. Pay at the factory was just enough to cover her lodging, another skirt every other month and a meal or two every day. She had wanted nothing more than to buy Jack a present for Christmas, she really had—but there was no money.

It was no wonder the way that Jack had looked at her—or, rather, not looked at her at all. In the three years that the two of them had been friends they'd never spent a Christmas together the way that Stress remembered from her childhood back in Ireland.

Lush lips formed into an unwilling pout, she bowed her head into her chest. What was she going to do? There was only two days left until Christmas—what then?

Oblivious to her frown, Mush offered his own winning smile in response as he explained, "Yup. Told him all about O'Malley's. Say, you ever hear of it?" When she shook her head, he said, "O'Malley's on 12th, tiny shop. But it's the only shop to buy a good Christmas present at, if ya ask me."

"Christmas presents?" Stress lifted her head up, her eyes wide with interest. "Is it… ya know, costly?"

"Not as much as some other places." His smile widened, pleased as he was with himself, as he lifted his near-forgotten papers up high. "Once I finish sellin' my papes I should have almost enough money to afford a good cap for Kid Blink. And, even if I can't get it all, the ol' fella who runs the join says he's willin' to work out a trade, too."

Her mind was already hard at work, even before Mush had finished his sentence. A contemplative and appreciative grin stretching her freckled face, Stress spared one hand to pat him gratefully on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mush! You're a real pal," she called back to him as she scurried away, halfway across the street to the Bottle Alley Home by the time her voice reached his numb ears.

And Mush, not having any idea what his innocent and heartfelt words had just set into motion, pulled his cap down over his ears, hefted up his newspapers a little higher and tried his darn best to finish selling them all before tomorrow.


	3. the

Disclaimer: _The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. _

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_**O'Malley's on 12**__**th**_

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Jack Kelly woke up the next morning, Christmas Eve, with a buzzing head, an empty belly and a heavy heart.

He'd purposely gone straight back to the Lodging House from Bottle Alley after his talk with Mush. Forgoing supper in order to save a nickel, he had paid the old supervisor, Kloppman, his lodging fare with a grim smile. Counting both his meager savings and the handful of pennies his selling had earned him, Jack realized that he didn't have anywhere near enough to buy any sort of acceptable present for Stress.

Falling asleep upon that realization, he awoke with only a faint hope. But it was useless; after double and triple checking his money again, the same paltry amount of coins was there.

It wasn't that early when he woke up—at least, not as early as Kloppman usually woke the boys—and a quick peek out of the bunkroom window told him why. The brief stay of snow had ended. There had to be at least six inches of freshly fallen snow blanketing the city again. And the snow was _still _coming down.

That, coupled with the fact that it was the day before Christmas, made him very leery about going out and selling the morning _World_. On one hand, he doubted if many of the other newsboys would head out into the weather just to make a nickel or two; in that case, the competition would be slim to none and he had a good chance of earning some more money.

But, he thought, what if nobody went outside to buy the paper or to even hear the news? Any fool with eyes could see that the biggest news story was the current blizzard. And a loss of any papers he bought off of Weasel but didn't sell would be much too big.

He debated about it for a few minutes as he joined Skittery at the pumps. Skittery's frown was etched into his face and, as per his usual bad mood, he didn't have any words for Jack. No doubt the sudden snowfall had dampened his foul mood considerably.

Jack observed the niceties—elbowing Skittery in the side to move over, flinging shaving cream in the other boy's face—but his heart wasn't really in it. Glancing over at the row of bunks he saw that only half of them were full. Assuming that the vacant bunks belonged to the more enterprising newsies gone out to make money—and conveniently not thinking of those unfortunate enough to have been unable to afford the nickel fare the night before—Jack finished washing up.

After tying his old red bandana around his neck and attempting to sling his hat down his back before remembering it was broken, he scooped up his money and, because he didn't dare enter the winter storm without it, stuck his old cowboy hat on his head anyway; he would just have to take great care not to lose it in the winds. Then, mumbling an apology to his growling stomach, he left the bunkroom behind him.

Now, he thought to himself, the smacking of his boots against the stairs doing nothing for his pounding head, what was the name of that shop again?

--

For reasons she could never fully understand, Mr. Williams liked to celebrate Christmas. At least, he didn't mind shutting down his factory for two full days—Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—so that his employees, young and old, could spend the holiday with their families. Of course, Stress Rhian often thought to herself, that could be because, for two whole days, he needn't pay wages to any of his employees.

Which did not benefit her in any way—two days of no wages was just enough to use up the small savings she'd only just managed to scrape together.

And she hadn't even been able to buy Jack a present yet…

Sighing a bit, her mind split between thinking of long past Christmas's of a lifetime ago and the promise of a Christmas that just might be, Stress pulled on her skirt and slipped her feet into her heeled shoes. Callused fingers did up the buttons before attempting their best to untangle some of her knotty curls. With a huff, she gave up and reached for her kerchief.

The wind was fierce and the snow stinging against her face but she was determined enough to look past it. She shivered as she walked, taking careful steps so that she would not slip against the slick snow that covered _everything_. Her thoughts had strayed again, dwelling on the shop that Mush had mentioned yesterday.

Trades, he had said. Patting the front pocket of her skirt, Stress made sure that she kept her trinket in place. It was a trade she was after.

Rounding the corner on 12th, it took her walking the lengths of the block twice before she finally noticed the small, dank shop tucked alongside a closed bakery and some great department store that, despite the snow, kept its turnstile spinning. Her heart started to hammer against her chest when she spied it, increasing in pace when she worried that it, like the bakery, was closed due to the storm.

Her sigh of relief was barely audible as she pulled on the wooden handle and gave the dingy door a tug. It opened easily and, only a touch cautiously, she entered O'Malley's.

It was dark inside, especially after spending her morning walking through the bright snow, but as her eyes adjusted, Stress saw that the small shop was much larger inside than she would have expected. Shelves upon shelves lined the shop's walls, toys and dollies of all shapes and sizes spread out across the floor. She blinked twice, trying to take the sights in all at once, and shook her head when she realized she couldn't. There was just far too much to see.

"Well, hello there."

She hadn't noticed the small counter just off to her right side. Slightly startled at the voice that seemed to be coming from nowhere, Stress whipped her head around, following the sound. There was an old man standing behind it, his blue eyes hidden behind a thick pair of glasses. His smile was wide and his nose was red; half of his face was covered by a bushy white beard. He had his hands folded neatly over a belly so large that she wondered whether or not it was actually resting on the counter.

Though a handful of years on the street had given her questionable manners, she realized that it was rude to stare. Sticking her chin out in an assured manner, she met his gaze straight on and, as she walked over to the counter, asked, "Are you Mr. O'Malley?"

The old man seemed surprised but whether it was from her forward manner or the way she assumed him to be the shop's namesake, Stress wasn't sure. "Why, no, miss. My name isn't O'Malley, it's Kringle. And you are?"

It was her turn to be surprised. So much so that, when he asked her her name, she answered immediately. "Stress."

"Stress? I can hardly believe that's the name your Mama gave you."

"All the same, that's what I'm called," she replied stubbornly.

"Alright, Stress," Mr. Kringle asked, his voice rumbling like thunder during a summer storm, "what can I do for you today?"

"Christmas, you see… it's comin' on fast. It's tomorrow—"

"Yes, I know," he interrupted, his voice full of humor now. As big as he was, and as gruff as his voice could be, there was no mistaking him for anything other than a jolly old man. For that reason Stress didn't even seem to notice that he'd cut her off.

She continued, "—and I really wanted to buy a present for a… a friend of mine."

"A friend, hmm? Well, here at O'Malley's we have something for everyone. Why don't you tell me about him?"

Stress also didn't even seem to notice that Mr. Kringle had automatically assumed that the present was for a boy.

"He's, well, he's a good guy. He can be smart, and he's caring. He stands up for himself and for others and, sure, he can be stubborn and maybe he'll lie every now and then, but he never means any harm. He's had it rough, you see," Stress said, suddenly feeling the urge to explain away some of Jack's worse qualities, "and… he deserves a good Christmas. I want—I want to get him something to make him happy this year."

Mr. Kringle didn't say anything right away; he stood there, instead, thoughtfully rubbing the lengths of his thick whiskers. "I do see… yes, I do. Now, did you have anything in mind for your special friend?"

Unused to actually being taken so seriously by an adult—a respectable shopkeeper, at that—it took Stress a minute to answer. "He wears a cowboy hat… at least, he did. There was—" she paused for another moment, wondering how best to describe what happened when Racetrack Higgins got a good idea that involved an old razor and a lot of egging on by his pals "—an accident and his favorite hat was broken. Not the hat, but the cord that kept it in place. I was wonderin' if maybe you had one here…"

Once she had finished with her request, Mr. Kringle nodded once and, with more grace and limber than you would think a man his age and size could have, bent down behind his counter. He disappeared for a second or two. When he stood back up again, there was a leather cord, thick and strong and quite intact, resting in the palm of his oversized hand. "Something like this?" he asked, setting the cord down on the counter.

She couldn't believe her eyes. It was _exactly_ what she had thought of while lying awake in her bunk last night. Trying not to be too obvious, she narrowed her gaze on the small price tag that was looped around the edge of the cord: twenty cents.

Her stomach seemed to drop straight down to her heeled shoes. Though the price wasn't much, it was more than she had. "I heard tell that you might be willin' to trade. Is that so?"

"A trade, hmm?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "Yes, I think that could be arranged. What do you have?"

Stress felt the weight of her broken necklace in her pocket and, for just a second, wondered if it was worth it. She wanted to get something for Jack, something that he both wanted and needed, but was it worth giving up her most prized possession? The old chain had been a gift from her mother, a gift from another life—

Yes, she told herself, but it's broken now.

Besides, she couldn't hold onto the past forever.

Slowly, she reached into the front pocket of her worn skirt and pulled out a fist. Taking a hesitant step forward, she uncurled her hands until a tarnished silver chain, broken at the ends, was revealed. "Could I… do you think I could trade you for this?"

Mr. Kringle did not reach for the necklace. He bowed his head until his glasses slipped to the end of his bulbous, red nose and he appraised the trinket with an experienced eye. "Are you sure it's worth the trade, child?" he asked gently.

"I know it's broken," she said stubbornly, misunderstanding as she held the chain out to him, "but it would be real smart once it got fixed up."

"Yes, I can see that now," he agreed. He could see in the girl's determined face that she did not want to leave the shop without the simple leather cord in tow—and he was equally as certain that her pride would not allow him to give her the cord away for free. It was a swap for her old, treasured necklace or nothing at all. "I'd be honored to trade."

For the first time in days Stress felt her heart lighten. It was worth it, she decided as she handed her necklace over, dipping it into Mr. Kringle's waiting palm. She would miss her chain, like she missed her mother, but it would be worth it to see Jack happy on Christmas Day.

It was worth it, she told herself as she scooped the cord up and let it fall into her empty pocket. It had to be.

--

It took Jack much longer than he would have liked to find the shop called O'Malley's. By the time he arrived there, covered in snow and with a dubious plan in mind, he'd wondered why he'd even bothered. He was sure there were pleasant enough stands and stalls carrying good, cheap merchandise much closer to the Lodging House. But Mush had talked up this tiny shop so much that, when he set out that morning, he'd had no other destination in mind than O'Malley's on 12th—and that was where he came.

With a hand that was numb from holding his broken hat down against the wind Jack gently gripped the handle and opened the door.

Later on, when he was back on Duane Street, and Christmas had already come and gone, he thought about the place and the way that it immediately made him feel. It was a small shop, closed-in, and he suddenly felt as if he was like Medda during one of her performances over at Irving Hall. He didn't see anyone straight away but it was like there was eyes everywhere, watching every move he made.

He couldn't explain why but the plan he'd been forming during his long walk was scrapped almost immediately. There was no way that he could steal a present for Stress. He would have to rely on the small amount of change in his pocket to pay for a suitable gift.

On the upside, though, his second impression of O'Malley's assured him that he would, if the price was right, be able to find a perfect gift for the girl.

All sorts of great ideas for presents seemed to jump out at him straight away. There was a whole shelf off to the left that held hand-carved and whittled little toys that he appreciated but deemed too young for his sixteen-year old friend. A row of dolls in beautiful dresses was too prissy but there was a paddleball that seemed promising. After all, used to working in a factory during the day, Stress was never comfortable unless she had her hands busy.

"Can I help you find anything, son?"

As if out of nowhere, a rather large man appeared right at Jack's shoulder. Feeling guilty though he, for one of the first times ever, had no need to, Jack quickly answered, "Nah. I'm just lookin'."

The hurried answer didn't shake the whiskered man. Patting his round belly comfortingly, he cast an eye over Jack. "Looking for a gift, perhaps? A nice Christmas gift?"

"I might be."

"Why don't you tell me about your young lady? I could be of some assistance," he offered cheerily, punctuating his offer with a nice, jolly laugh.

But the jolly laugh wasn't enough to fool Jack. He felt his eyes narrow and his reflexes tense as he turned to look at the white-haired man out of the corner of his eye. "I never said I had a young lady."

"But the gift would be for a girl, wouldn't it?" the old man replied. The glasses he wore had slipped down his big nose and his blue eyes were piercing against Jack's brown ones.

There was that feeling again. It was stronger this time and little more different—not so much that he was being watched but that he was being understood. Jack felt as if he could lie all he wanted but this old man wouldn't buy one word of it. He already knew the truth, whether or not Jack gave it to him. "Yeah," he admitted instead, turning his back on the man so that he wasn't looking into those innocent-seeming, all-too-knowing blue eyes.

"I thought as much." The old man, unbothered by Jack's rudeness, went back to his counter. Once he was in place, he rapped one of his meaty fists against the top. "What's your name, son?"

As if the lure of his voice was a magnet, Jack found that his head was turning to follow the sound. He could no longer deny that the overpowering urge to lie in an effort to protect himself was weakening against this strange man and his odd shop. Still, there were some lies that went bone deep and his identity was one of them. "Name's Jack."

"Good to meet you, Jack," he said, without offering his own name in return. Jack just thought he was the man called O'Malley. "I like your hat."

Before he could help it his hand was reaching up to make sure that the cowboy hat was still there. It was and he mumbled a quick thanks as he strolled forward and met the man at the counter. He was uncomfortable and he could already sense that he wasn't acting like himself; usually, when he was as uncomfortable, he let his loud and flashy persona take over.

He blamed his sudden desire to remain quiet and somewhat respectable in front of the shopkeeper on the lingering cold. Jack, despite living in New York all his life, was never one for the cold—he couldn't wait until he could make it out west and become a real cowboy.

"Now, down to business," the man said before bending his knees and reaching behind the counter with one hand. When he straightened up, there was a small tin case in his hand. Smiling a bit to himself, he opened the case and tilted it so that Jack could see the hand-crafted tin necklace that reflected the flickering candlelight that flooded the small shop. "How about this? Do you think your lady friend would approve?"

Jack didn't know how the old man knew. All last night, when he wondered what sort of gift he would buy Stress if he was rich like Joseph Pulitzer instead of being a poor street rat, he dreamt of buying her a beautiful necklace that she would wear around her pale throat. The idea had come to him, admittedly, after he heard her hurried confession that he'd broken her favorite trinket yesterday and it had stuck with him. And now, sitting in the tin case before him, was a necklace that would suit her—and one that would have been from him.

But, as his eyes strayed downwards, it wasn't meant to be. The price tag that announced the necklace as being worth ninety cents was just the same as if the tin case had been snapped shut and removed from his line of sight. There was no way he could afford that.

"It's… it's perfect, but I ain't got enough," he said, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated having to admit that he didn't have the money; his fingers already itched to just grab the tin necklace and run. "Ya got anything else?"

"Come, Jack, why settle for anything else when you said yourself that this is perfect?"

He wondered if the old man was hard of hearing or just plain dumb. "I told ya, 'cause I ain't got that much money."

Mr. Kringle nodded knowingly then before removing the necklace from its tin case and placing it on the counter. With a skilled hand, he moved it until it was sitting right before Jack, tempting the thief in the young man. "I know. And I'll tell you what. I really do like that hat of yours, Jack."

Jack Kelly had never had the good fortune to receive any education greater than what his mother had given him as a boy. Still, he could be pretty sharp at times and it only took him a few seconds before he'd placed his old, broken cowboy hat on the counter.

The tin necklace was cool in the palm of his hand. He wondered if it would retain the chill when Stress placed it around her neck.

--

There was no wiping the exuberant grin off of Mush Meyer's youthful face. Not even the trailing end of another New York winter storm could dampen his mood.

Even though he was soaked to the bone and had to duck into any store kind enough to offer a little warmth as he made his way towards O'Malley's, he was quite excited. Though he'd spent most of the morning and half of the afternoon selling the _New York World_, he'd finally been able to sell enough to ensure that he had enough for that dark brown cap he wanted to buy Kid Blink.

The brightness of the stark white snow had not yet been sullied by the dirt that comprised the city and the sunlight reflecting against the foot-high banks blinded him enough that he lost his way once or twice. Mush's sense of direction wasn't exactly something for him to boast about but he'd spent enough time in the little shop over the last few weeks, ogling the stock and checking the price of the cap he was eyeing, that he knew where to spot the tiny, dusty windows that led into a whole new world.

All too eager, Mush pulled on the handle and swung the door open so fiercely that it seemed like the old door might drop off its hinges from the force of his tug. Wincing, he let go and waited until the door settled calmly behind him before hurrying right over to the counter.

The old man was busy counting his receipts for the afternoon. As a rule, O'Malley's closed early on Christmas Eve and he was just about to leave himself. "Mush! I was hoping to see you before I closed up for the night."

Mush's dark eyes widened as he took a look at the near-empty shelves around him. That confused him somewhat, considering that the shelves had been stock full the last time that Mush was in the shop—_yesterday_— but he didn't worry about it. He was too concerned with the time. "I'm not too late, am I, Mr. Kringle?"

"Not at all, son. And, look!" Bending right down and rising almost as quickly, Mr. Kringle emerged with a brand new newsboy cap in his hand. "I kept that cap of yours right behind the counter with me. Just in case," he winked.

"Oh, thank you!" Mush cried, reaching out excitedly for the cap. He flung all of his hard-earned pennies on the counter. They were already a memory; he only had eyes for the gift he had worked so hard to buy.

Mr. Kringle took the pile of coins from Mush but didn't bother counting them out. He knew for sure that the boy would not give him one penny less than the sixty-five cents the brown felt cap had been marked at. He waited a few moments as Mush ran his ink-stained hands all around the edge of the cap before starting to speak again. "Now, Mush, I was wondering if I could ask you a small favor."

It was the sound of his name that caught Mush's attention. Caught with his mouth hanging slightly open, his brow furrowed as he glanced over at Mr. Kringle in confusion. He ran the words through his head again and, when he realized what the old man had asked him, he said, "A favor, Mr. Kringle? Sure! What is it?"

"I had a couple of your young friends in here today," Mr. Kringle said warmly, "and I promised them that I'd box up their purchases for them. I have other business to tend to tonight, and I thought you might be so kind as to deliver them for me."

Mush wasn't sure where the two gifts had came from. He might have been prepared to swear that they weren't sitting on the edge of the counter a second ago—but, then again, he _had _been pretty preoccupied with his newly purchased cap. All the same, there were two boxes in front of him, one much larger than the other, and he could read the tags easily.

"Jack? And Stress? They both came here?" he asked, before swapping his puzzled expression for a knowing grin. "'Course they did, Mr. Kringle. I told 'em both about this place, 'bout how great it was and everything." Nodding happily to himself, he reached his hands out and, after placing the smaller box on top of the larger and adding Blink's gift assuredly on top, picked up the pile. "I'll make sure they both get their presents in time for Christmas," he promised solemnly before walking a bit lopsidedly over to the front entrance of the shop.

"You're such a good boy, Mush," Mr. Kringle said kindly as he stepped out from behind the counter so that he could open the door for Mush.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Kringle," Mush said, maneuvering the boxes and the cap so that he could offer the old man a wave of his hand, "and thank you!"

Mr. Kringle gave one big laugh, a jolly one that made his big belly shake like a bowlful of jelly. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Mush," he said, patting the newsboy once on his shoulder before he disappeared back onto the snow-covered street.

The boy never even felt the weight as every one of his sixty-five pennies was slipped back into his pocket.


	4. Magi

Disclaimer: _The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. The premise of the story is based on O'Henry's short story, "The Gift of the Magi"; the description of Christmas at the Lodging House was from LD's website, No. 9 on Duane Street.  
_

--

_**O'Malley's on 12**__**th**_

--

Christmas Day on Duane Street began as it always did. Kloppman woke up the boys, swapping his hollers of "Sell the papes" with a more festive cry of "Merry Christmas, boys!" and offering a small peppermint candy to each boy who hopped out of bed to begin the festivities. For one day out of the whole year, these children could be what they actually were: _children_.

The lobby had been decorated, as had the school room in the back of the House. Great big evergreens covered the room and many of the young boys followed the old supervisor into the room to be told the story of Ebenezer Scrooge again this year. A few of the older boys—the one's who thought themselves too old for Christmas stories and Christmas wishes—offered a hand to the ladies (and some of their daughters) of the Children's Aid Society. Along with the Lodging House cooks, the women and their young helpers prepared the Christmas dinner.

The feast was served at three o'clock that year so that all of the young lodgers would have a fine and nourishing meal for the holiday. Set on long dinner tables covered in white linen, Jack felt that the CAS biddies had outdone themselves this year. There was turkey and boiled ham, potatoes, turnips and other foods of that sort, plus three different sorts of pie. He ate more than he should've and even engaged in a little horseplay as he finally got Racetrack Higgins back for breaking his old hat by slipping a slice of apple pie underneath his seat before the short Irish boy sat down right on it.

Even the weather seemed to be in the Christmas spirit. The snow had continued to fall right through Christmas morning, guaranteeing that New York would see a White Christmas, but the winds had died down considerably. Tiny flakes dotted the landscape and the cold seemed to be taking a holiday; it was nowhere near as chilly as it had been in previous days.

Happy and satisfied at the end of the Christmas feast, Jack decided to take his leave of the Lodging House before Racetrack came up with another one of his ingenious plots of revenge. Besides, it was sure to be as hectic over at the Bottle Alley Home for Girls; if he was lucky—and luck did seem to be on his side that day—he would be able to find Stress and give her her Christmas present without Mrs. Cook (or Rae, for that matter) catching him there.

--

Mush Meyers had the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something. So consumed by the Christmas festivities, there was only a faint nagging at the back of his mind that told him that there was something he was supposed to have done.

It couldn't have been giving his hard-earned present to Kid Blink, he was sure of that. He'd sought out the patch-wearing newsie earlier that morning, after Kloppman finished telling "A Christmas Carol" but before the Christmas feast had begun, and given the painstakingly wrapped gift to his friend. Blink had been so pleased at the gesture that he'd flung off his old, dusty hat and promptly placed the new cap right onto his fair head.

But if not that, then what? His belly full from three helpings of apple pie with sweat cream, Mush sat at the dinner table and thought about it. He thought it might have something to do with Christmas; why else would he feel as if it was something that had to be done that day?

He didn't know but his mood was too cheery to be upset by something he couldn't remember. He was just so glad that Blink had liked the gift he had bought him from O'Malley's—

_O'Malleys! The presents!_

Sitting straight up, Mush lost that dreamy gaze in his eye as he searched out Jack. There were so many boys still sitting at the dinner table but he was pretty certain that he didn't see Jack at all. He vaguely remembered an earlier commotion down at one end of the table—something about Race wasting a piece of pie by sitting in it—and thought he might've seen Jack leaving the dining room shortly after that.

Now that his mind was a little clearer, and he knew what it was that he was supposed to do, Mush was focused. He thought he knew Jack well enough by now, and something Mr. Kringle had mentioned gave him an idea. If Jack had really gone all the way over to O'Malley's to buy Stress a present for Christmas, then he had to go and give it to the girl, didn't he? It made enough sense to him.

Never mind, of course, the fact that Mush still had the two boxes with him…

Without another word—though, maybe, he did stop for one more bite of pie—Mush climbed up from the dining table and hurried back up to the bunkroom. He'd meant to give the box to Jack on Christmas Eve but the older boy hadn't been there when he came back from the shop; careful not to lose it, or let it get nicked, Mush stowed it underneath his bottom bunk and it was from there he retrieved it. A quick look around the bunkroom told him that Jack hadn't retreated upstairs after he'd finished eating, either.

His best bet, Mush decided, would be for him to take the trip over to Bottle Alley. Even if Jack wasn't there, at least Stress would be. And he still had her gift to deliver, too.

--

On the trip from Duane Street to Bottle Alley Jack came up with no less than three fool-proof ways to sneak into Bottle Alley. One of them, unfortunately, required an accomplice on the rooftop and a long length of rope, neither which he currently had; he made sure to file that one away for future use.

However, as he made his way down the street that led to the Girls' Home, Jack found that he didn't need any of his plans. The girl he wanted to meet was already waiting for him; he could tell it was her from the way she was aimlessly playing with the hem of her skirt and alternately pulling at a stray curl that had escaped from her clip.

She heard his approach, the crunching of his boots against the icy snow, and lifted her head and her right hand in greeting. Her left hand, he saw, was holding tight to a small package with a red ribbon tied around it. He was curious as to what it could be—who it could be for. When she held the gift out to him, smiling shyly up at him, he knew.

"Oh, Stress, ya didn't have to get me nothin'."

"I know. But I wanted to."

"Thanks," he muttered, a little uncomfortable at the way she was looking at him. Her golden eyes were bright and he wondered if he had seen such a look in her eyes before. Pushing that thought to the side, he added, "I, uh, I got somethin' for ya, too."

"Did you really, Jack?"

The way her voice seemed to get high like that brought a touch of color to Jack's cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. "Yeah. Here."

He hadn't put it in a box like she had, or placed a bow around it. Instead, using one sheet of a newspaper he'd found stuffed under his pillow, he wrapped the necklace as best he could. Feeling a bit foolish, turning his head away so that he wouldn't see her reaction, he waited to hear what she would have to say.

When a minute or so had passed and Stress still hadn't said a word, he asked, "Do ya… do ya like it?"

"I do," she said quietly, letting the tin necklace curve to the shape of her cupped palm. It wasn't anything like her old necklace, the old silver chain she'd traded away, but it was nice in its own way. It wouldn't hold the memory of her childhood or the touch of her Mama's skin, but it was special enough. It was special because Jack had given it to her.

He wasn't too sure that he believed her. It wasn't like Stress to whisper in such a way. It made him uneasy and, taking care not to meet her golden gaze, he tried to explain, "Ya said that your old one got broke so I thought that this could be a new one. I mean, until the other one gets fixed, right?"

She gave her head a little shake, chasing the ghosts away; there wasn't another one at all that could get fixed. Forcing herself to forget the past, it didn't take much for her to bring a true grin to her face. "Thank you, Jack. It's beautiful," she told him honestly, folding her right hand around the necklace. She didn't stop to put it on, though. Instead, she poked him in the side with her elbow. "Your turn."

He'd remembered the gift that he held in his hand but, after giving Stress the necklace, he wanted to wait until she'd opened her present before he opened his. Selfish as he could be, he felt that, if she liked her gift, that was all he needed.

Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been given a gift…

Unwrapping the small box hastily, Jack flung the lid off and lifted the box up so that he could see what she'd placed inside. The plaited leather cord that laid there was enough to wipe the look of anticipation right off of his face. He didn't even need to hear what she said next to know what the gift was—and, while it was thoughtful, it was no longer necessary.

"Where's your hat, Jack? I want to see if the cord's a right fit."

Jack knew exactly where the hat was—and he had no idea how he was going to explain to Stress that he'd given it to the old man at O'Malley's in exchange for her tin necklace.

But, as it turned out, he didn't have to explain anything at all. Just as he was trying his best to come up with a believable lie, he heard his name being called out. And, like the other day, when he'd been standing right at the same place, he saw Mush approaching him. This time, though, Mush was calling for Stress, too, and he was running.

Grateful for the interruption, Jack turned away from Stress's questioning gaze so that he was facing Mush. "Mush? Whatcha doin' here? I thought you was still eatin' at the feast."

"I was, Jack, but then I remembered." Slightly out of breath from his run, Mush held the two boxes out. The larger of the two he handed to Jack; the smaller he tossed to a bewildered Stress. "I stopped at O'Malley's last night to get Blink's present and Mr. Kringle asked me to bring those to you two."

There was a tag on each of the boxes. Shrugging his shoulders, wondering why the old man had given something to Mush that was for him, Jack used the gas lamp to make out the name on his gift. Written in a fancy script, much like the lettering on O'Malley's sign, was the name: _Francis._

He didn't open the box straight away. For a second or two, Jack stopped breathing. He knew the name—of course he knew the name—but the question was: How did that man know the name?

Stress, it seemed, had the same question. She was frowning as she looked down at the small box in her hand. "Mush, why does this say 'Jessa' on it?"

Mush's big, dark eyes widened in surprise. "Does it?" he asked. "I coulda sworn it said 'Stress' when Mr. Kringle gave it to me."

Jack knew that Jessa was her Christian name, and he also knew how much she hated being reminded of it. In an attempt to take her mind off of that—and to make sure that she didn't get curious enough that she glanced at his own name tag—he hurriedly said, "Well, what didja get?"

It was just the right question for him to ask. As if in a daze, Stress opened the box with hesitant fingers. Her mouth dropped open as she, using the crook of her finger, looped a dainty, tarnish-free silver chain and lifted it up. It was easy for all three of them to see that the ends had been mended. "It's my necklace. My necklace, Jack, it's been fixed!"

But Jack was already opening his own box. He didn't know what to expect, or perhaps he did, because he'd barely tossed the second box top to the snowy ground before he'd taken his cowboy hat out of the box and returned it to its faithful place atop his head. The cord that draped below his chin was the twin to the cord that Stress had given him.

He couldn't believe it but seeing _was_ believing. He saw the necklace as Stress placed it around her neck, adding the tin necklace as well; he saw the cord that was swaying in the faint winter breeze.

Slowly, he turned on Mush. Mush was the only one who didn't seem surprised at all.

"Mush, who was it who gave you these again?"

And, smiling so wide that it threatened to split his face, Mush just said, "I told ya O'Malley's was a great place, didn't I?"

--

Mr. Kris Kringle yawned as he took one last look around O'Malley's. It had been a very busy night and he was nothing short of exhausted but his lease on the small shop ended on the day after Christmas—he had to come along and finish off another season before getting started on the next year. The toys that hadn't, for some reason or another, been gifted had to be returned to his workroom; all traces of a successful season had to be erased before he could go back home.

The shop was empty before he knew it. The shelves had been tucked away, the counter hidden as if by magic. Nothing was left inside, except for the man himself, and he couldn't help but feel that same, familiar sense of sadness. Christmas was over, at least from where he stood, and it would be quite some time until he returned to this small shack. He would miss it.

But then, as if there was something about him that wouldn't let any sort of sadness linger, he called forth the smiling face of Mush Meyers, the calculating look in Jack Kelly's eyes and the determined jut of Stress Rhian's chin. Them, like countless others before them, had discovered the shop—and, as such, had each recovered the spirit of Christmas.

And in the end, the girl was right. It was all worth it.

"Merry Christmas," Mr. Kringle said, speaking to no one in particular but to anyone and everyone. And then, with a small, "Ho, ho, ho," under his breath that still managed to make his giant belly jiggle and wiggle uncontrollably, he closed his bright, blue eyes, placed one of his long, thick fingers alongside the edge of his bulbous, red nose and—

—and O'Malley's on 12th just faded away for another year.

* * *

Author's Note: _And that's that. I hope that anyone who stopped by and read this enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! A little Christmas fluff never hurt anyone, right? Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everybody!_

_-- stress, 12.12.08  
_


End file.
